


By a Thread

by sans_souci2



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-25 02:14:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2604857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sans_souci2/pseuds/sans_souci2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A 5.07 coda-</p>
            </blockquote>





	By a Thread

Funny where your eye can be drawn even when you’re flat out terrified.

For Danny, for a split second, it's to Steve’s chest-the way it swells and then dips into those washboard flat abs of his. Any other time he would have savored the sight but right now his throat was closing up and his legs felt like lead. “Steve!” he begged when he made it across the room."You okay?"

That's when those gorgeous eyes opened.

_Thank God._

Except they weren't gorgeous anymore.

Yes they were still that mesmerizing grey blue color but they were bloodshot and  filled with a kind of confusion Danny had never seen before.

And it wasn't  just his eyes that were so wrong. He sounded even more confused than he looked.

"I wanna talk to my Dad."

The barely coherent way he said it all but killed Danny. Desperate to get him up off the wet floor he nodded at Chin and together they hauled him to his feet. When they did there was no way for either of them to miss the stench of sweat and filth and blood and something else coming off of him.

At first Danny told himself he was wrong but after they took a few more he steps he realized he wasn't. 

_So he pissed himself?_

Danny wanted to put his fist through the wall. 

He knew Steve; he could only imagine what it took to make him lose control like that.

"I got you-you’re going to be okay. I got you," he told him.  Over and over again the same two promises fell from his lips-the second one more a prayer than a promise as he tightened his grip and put all his strength into dragging Steve out of yet another hellhole.

This one, hands down, was the worst ever.

The grim look Chin flashed him confirmed it.

Granted Steve had looked this awful, even worse, before. Bloodied and unconscious on a stretcher in Bagram came to mind. But, as bad as he's ever looked and as out of his mind worried as Danny has ever been, the minute Steve came to, each and every time, everything was okay. At least sort of-at least Steve was Steve and not the lost soul who opened his eyes a minute ago only to break down and sob a few seconds later.

_What  in God's name had they done to him?_

"Here we go," he told him, trying to keep his own voice steady. "Here's the door."

“No Dan-ny. Wa-it.” Steve suddenly stopped. Holding his breath, arms wrapped around his midsection,he seemed to be bracing for something.

"What is it babe? What's wrong?"

A second later Steve's entire body was racked by a thick phlegmy cough that all but gagged him. The harder he coughed the worse he grimaced. For a second Danny was confused but then he took a look around the room. When he saw the buckets and soaked, grimy towels in the corner his mind connected the dots and he had to blink back tears. “Oh no babe. Don't tell me they did that to you, please...no.”

“It’s o-kay. I’m… o-kay.”

The ludicrousness of the claim extinguished  Danny's despair enough for him to disagree, "You babe are so far from okay it’s not even funny. Here. Here you go. Let’s get you out of this hellhole."

Somehow, don't ask Danny how, they made it outside. There was no sidewalk when they got there-just a sun baked parking lot. He hated lowering Steve down on the filthy pavement but he didn’t have a choice.

As soon as his bottom hit a hard surface, Steve slumped forward and buried his face in his hands.

And then he groaned.

It was a low in his throat sound like a wounded animal would make.

“That’s it. I‘m getting EMS over here,” Chin said, stalking off and then, a second later, breaking into a jog.

“Hurry cuz.” Kono called after him before she squatted down on the hot macadam next to Steve. “I’m here boss. What can I do?”

No surprise, Steve didn't answer. Bright sunlight beating down on his back illuminated the sickening collection of bruises and needle marks there. Danny and Kono's eyes met for a half second and instantly telegraphed the same agonizing question. _What the hell did they do to him?_

“Oh babe...,” was all Danny could say before the ache in his throat med it impossible to speak.  He ran a fingertip over one of the needle marks and couldn't help but flinch. "We...we  really got to get you checked out,”  When he got no pushback about a million alarms went off in his head. "What is it, babe?" he asked. "What hurts?"

Head still down Steve gritted out, "Light...hurts...my eyes. Head...hurts."

"Okay, okay. Just stay like that. Here. Kono and I will block the sun."

The two of them positioned themselves around him in a half-huddle creating as much shade as they could.

Steve lifted his head and squinted at Danny.  “I …I was sure it was... my dad, " he choked out, his eyes watering profusely. "I had a beer… with him.” And then after a ragged breath, “We were on the beach.”

“But you didn't Steve-they shot you full of drugs. You only imagined it.”

It’s like Steve didn’t even hear him, “Our beach, D. Down by…the wat-er.”

Before Danny could answer, while the raw pain he was seeing was still ripping him to pieces, Steve dropped his head back down and sobbed a horrible gut-wrenching sob.

It’s not a sound likea nything Danny had ever heard coming from another human being before. The fact that it was coming from Steve shattered his heart into a million pieces. “Oh babe, com'ere” he said, dropping down to wrap his arms around him. Resigned to the fact that whatever the bastards had done  was stronger than the truth he pulled him closer and whispered, “I’m glad babe. He’s gone now but I’m glad you had some time with him.”

It was like a switch had been flipped the way Steve collapsed against him. Instantly the steel-spring tension in him was gone. “That’s it, just relax,” Danny told him. “I got you.” Steve was  dead weight against him; his head  on his shoulder instantly wet his shirt but he didn't give a damn.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Chin hurrying two EMTs toward them.One was pushing a stretcher; the other had a heavy canvass bag over his shoulder. "Help's almost here, buddy," he murmured in Steve's ear. "You're gonna be okay."

_________-________

“You can't be in here. I’m afraid you’ll need to go wait in the waiting room.”

Danny can hardly believe the doctor in front of him is saying what he's saying. “I’m sorry," he replies, "but with all due respect, that’s not happening.”

“Well I’m sorry but it’s hospital regulation.”

Funny how calm you can appear when all you want to do is blow someone's head off.  Danny takes a breath and continues, “I appreciate that. I’m a police detective so trust me, I get regulations. The thing is, your patient, whose name by the way is Steven, has just had some God-awful things done to him. If not for the morphine the paramedics gave him he'd be writhing in pain and telling you he just saw his poor deceased Dad."

“I’m aware of his pain and the fact he's been hallucinating. We're perfectly capable of treating both.”

"Fine, but the thing is, when you guys start working on him there’s every chance he’s going to mistake you for the bastards who did all the horrible shit to him and if that happens I can’t even begin to tell you how happy you’ll be to have me in here.”

The doctor takes a deep breath and reconsiders. “Okay fine just try to stay out of our way so we can take care of him. “

Danny nods and has every intention of sticking to the agreement. Things go okay until they start cutting Steve's pants off and he arches up off the exam table-arms flailing everywhere and eyes wide with terror. In a flash Danny's across the room and next to the stretcher. He may have pushed a nurse aside; he's not sure. All he knows is he has to erase the terror on Steve's face."Shhh, he tells him, grabbing his hands and whispering right up against his ear, "These are good folks-they only want to help you. How about we let them get these wet pants off of you?'

It's not  like Steve agrees but at least he settles down enough for the nurses to strip him. As soon as they do Danny has to beg them to cover him up."For God's sake-don't leave him lying there like that. Don't you people have any sheets or blankets around here?"

"Get a blanket from the warmer," the doctor tells one of the nurses. "Get a temp first though."

Danny stays next to the gurney and has to fight the urge to to reach down and cover Steve's crotch-even if it's just with his hands. It's so wrong for all these strangers to see him like this-to be getting eyefuls of his glorious body. He looks away-he has to. He watches a nurse take Steve's temperature with a probe she places just inside his ear and squeezes Steve's hand. "Just getting your temp, babe," he tells him. "No big deal. I'm right here." It reminds him of his stints with Grace in the ER-how terrified she was of all the strangers around her. "Can we please have as few people as possible in here?" he asks.

"As soon as we get his vitals and I'm sure he's stable," the doctor answers.

 _Stable?_ If he wasn't so worried Danny would have laughed.

Once Steve is calm and covered, Dany goes back to his spot against the wall but he doesn't stay there for long. It's just like he predicted. Everything they do for Steve-start an IV, shine a penlight in his eyes-all of it sets him off. In no time Danny's back next to the stretcher, holding on to Steve and talking him down.  Even after they reluctantly give him  a shot of Ativan and he drifts off, Danny stays right there next to him-holding his hand, running his fingers over his forehead, doing whatever he has to to keep him calm.

_____~______

An hour later the doctor is back, this time he stands just inside the door of the treatment bay. He nods for Danny to come over which he reluctantly does. “Well detective," he says, "We have the tox screens back-“

“And?”

“And whoever did this to your friend was no amateur.”

“No shit. What did they give him?”

“What didn’t they is more like it. They used Scopalamine in very high doses-probably to get him to talk. Based on his blood glucose level I think they used fast acting insulin for the same purpose. “

“Insulin?”

“Yes. The brain runs on glucose and when it’s supply is reduced an individual’s ability to delude an interrogator takes a real hit. Precipitously dropping glucose levels produces other nasty side effects too-like confusion and headache."

"Like Steve has?"

"Well yes but there's another reason for his headache."

“Which is?”

"You've heard of nitroglycerin?"

"Sure, my granddad used to pop the stuff like candy."

"Well it's a powerful vasodilator-your grandfather probably had narrowed coronary arteries and it dilated them to improve his blood flow."

"Or something like that. So what's this have to do with Steve?"

"One side effect of the drug is an intense headache-in fact they use nitroglycerin to induce migraines in order to test new migraine treatments."

"So that's why he's got the headache?"

"Correct. They used a formulation we've never seen before that allows the drug to be continuously released."

"For how long?"

"That's what we're working on now. It's got our people stumped. So far there's been no decrease in the concentration of the drug we're finding in your friend's system."

"So it's still working on him?"

"It is. We'll continue to medicate him for pain as long as we need to."

Noticeably paler, Danny says, “Please tell me that’s all.”

“I wish I could. We also found traces of lithium chloride, a psych med that in excess doses is known to induce confusion and hyperalgia, or, increased sensitivity to pain. It looks like whoever abducted your friend gave him injections of the stuff to jack up his pain”.

Danny feels sick to his stomach. Now the helpless look on Steve’s face makes more sense. Not even his damn SEAL training was enough to get him through the kind of pain they must have hit him with. “How… how long does that lithium stuff last,” he asks.

“Immediately after injection the effect is most intense and then wears off within a few hours but with repeated doses like he was given there's a secondary weaker effect that can linger for days."

"And as long as it does, whatever's hurting him, hurts worse?"

"I'm afraid so."

“But as soon as we get the drugs out of his system he'll be okay and I can take him home?”

The doctor frowns. “Not exactly . We need to keep him until his lungs are a bit clearer.”

Danny winces. He pictures Steve struggling for air while water floods his towel-covered face. "So you know what they did to him?

"I do. He actually offered the information when I asked him about his cough."

"So... so what exactly are we dealing with?"

“Well water boarding produces the same effect as a near drowning. The victim holds his breath as long as possible but then when he can’t, aspirates water into his lungs which then produces  a condition very much like pneumonia. He’s getting a breathing treatment right now and we started him on IV antibiotics which should help.”

Danny glances over at Steve and has to fight the urge to rush back to him. They've raised the head of his stretcher so he's sitting up. His eyes are open but he's staring off into space. There's an oxygen mask strapped across his face with some kind of medicated vapor swirling in it which seems to be helping because he's not coughing but, the empty far away look in his eyes is close to unbearable. Danny desperately needs this doctor to focus on the elephant in the room.  “Okay so bottom line, he’s going to need a little time to physically get over the shit they did to him.  I know for sure that he’ll do it in half the time you expect him to. What I’m more worried about is how he’s going to handle the mental hit he just took. I mean I’ve known him for five years and never seen him cry. Today he’s done it twice and from the look of things he’s just getting started. Who do we get to come see him about that? What do we give him? Is there anything _to_ give him?”

“I wish there was but there really isn’t. I mean we can give him anti- anxiety meds like Valium or more Ativan but they’ll only put him in a chemical holding pattern. Once they wear off he'll still have to process what he's been through."

“What about a shrink who deals with PTSD- you got anyone here like that?’

“Hold on. I agree he’s been through a lot but it’s a little too early to make that diagnosis.”

"That's where you're wrong. My friend over there barely sleeps at night and when he does he has nightmares that leave him drenched in sweat and shaking like a leaf. He’s been through some horrible shit in his life. Trust me. And now with this..." Danny's voice trails off; the ache in his throat makes it impossible to continue.

“Well I can get someone from Psych to see him. I really don’t hold out a lot of hope though; they’re all pretty much just pill pushers.”

“Okay. You know what? Don’t bother. I know a guy, an ex SEAL guy who probably can get someone over here from Hickham. That would be okay wouldn’t it, you know, for a military shrink to come here?”

"Of course. Just call me with a name so I can alert the staff.”  
______~_______  
.

Raffi Borelli, Raffi being short for Raphael, was born and bred in the Bronx. After graduating from Cardinal Hayes High School he followed a circuitous route, first becoming an officer at Westpoint ,then, a physician at Cornell School of Medicine and finally, head of Psychiatry at Hickham Airforce Base. He's a big barrel-chested man who loves his wine and pasta almost as much as his family. He’d done  multiple tours in Iraq and Afghanistan and guided more helpless young souls through the minefields of PTSD than he could even count. His patients' shattered lives all too often kept him awake at night and sent him on long solitary walks during which he ardently prayed to Mother Mary and God and Jesus and anyone else who was listening for guidance. His wife Angela, a near saint herself, begged him more than once to consider another specialty. He wanted to; he hated worrying her. But the thing was, he couldn’t stop doing what he was doing. Call it a gift or a curse-he did the later regularly, but the fact of the matter was that Raffi Borelli was one of the most uniquely skilled practitioners waging war against PTSD in the country if not the world.

“Normally I’d give you grief about calling me up and asking for a favor before you came over for some of Angela's lasagna," he said to Joe. “But you sound damn worried.”

“I am Raffi. I’m worried sick.”

“Well this boy from the Bronx doesn’t like hearing that one bit. Where’d you say I can find this young man of yours?”

“Queens Medical. Ever been there?"

"No but I can find it."

"Well  hurry because he’s in pretty rough shape. The bastards went after him with a whole pharmacy of drugs and then water boarded him until his lungs were good and messed up.”

“Damn. He might be too sick for me to be able to work with him.”

“He’s in rough shape but he’s one of mine, Raffi which means his body will bounce back before you know it.”

“Ah yes. _The Incredible Bouncing Back Seal._ I’ve treated more than a few of that unique sub-species.”

“And?”

“And they’re a challenge that’s all. I mean you do a hell of a good job training your boys to check their emotions at the door and that’s all well and good on the battlefield but when the battlefield gets the better of them and I get called in, it’s damn tough to break through their defenses.”

“I hear you, Raffi."

“Well don't worry. I'll head over and see him this afternoon. Let’s hope I can get through to this poor Pisano.”

_______~~~________

Twenty-four hours after pulling him out of one hellhole, Danny feels like he’s knee deep in another one. Every hour or so Steve re-surfaces and blinks and seems to be trying to make sense of things but says nothing. Danny tries to connect with him, explaining whats going on-that they’re patching him up and detoxing him-that he’s going to be fine. Steve listens and nods, sometimes. Sometimes he just stares off into space.

Even though Steve’s got an IV running, Danny tries to get him to drink. If he asks him if he’s thirsty Steve will shake his head, he’s already tried that. So instead he holds the straw that’s in a glass of water up against his chapped lips and whispers, "Here you go, babe." When he does it, Steve usually drinks but as he sips, the emptiness in his eyes makes Danny have to swallow hard to tamp down the ache in his throat.

He desperately wants the shrink Joe’s sending over to get here _._ Steve is going to re-surface any minute now and he wants someone here when he does-someone who knows how to pull him up out of the abyss he seems to have fallen in. “I’m gonna get you some help, babe,” he whispers, reaching through the bed rails to gently run his fingers through the wisps of chest hair peeking out over the top of Steve’s hospital gown. Instead of being reassured by what he’s hearing, Steve's eyes dart back and forth under their lids; deep lines crease his forehead.

“Soon, “ Danny promises him, moving his fingers up to smooth over his stubbled cheek. “Soon.”

_______~________

Joe stations himself in the hallway outside Steve’s room as soon as Raffi texts him that he’s on the way. He hears him before he sees him.

First time the big guy’s set foot in this hospital and he’s already made a friend. Sure enough when Borelli rounds the corner he’s animatedly chatting with brunette woman in scrubs. A not unattractive woman. Also typical. Arms folded across his chest, Joe watches Raffi approach. Finally Borelli looks up. “So there you are,” he booms at Joe. Then to the woman, “That’s my buddy-the one I’ve been telling you about.”

She nods and smiles as she watches Raffi all but squeeze the air out of Joe with one of his big bear hugs.

“Joe, Audrey. Audrey, Joe, “ he says when he steps back.

“Nice to meet you Joe and good luck to your friend," the woman says and squeezes Joe’s arm  like she really means it. “And nice talking to you Raffi, I got to go.”

“Arrivederci, Audrey,” Raffi calls to the woman as he watches her walk away.

“You’re still the same old charmer, I see?”

Raffi shrugs, “What can I say. Despite this ring on my finger the ladies seem to gravitate my way.” Then suddenly turning serious, “So tell me Joe, how ‘s your boy doing?”

“Not good. It's ...it's like he's shut down."

Raffi winces. “Well how’s he doing physically-could that be why?”

“Well it's part of it. He’s beat up and has what they’re calling pneumonitis. The doc says he’ll be down and out for a little while but then he'll be okay."

"So pneumonitis is just a fancy word for an inflammation of the lungs. No surprise he’s got it. You flush anyone’s lungs with water and It’s gonna cause trouble.” Borelli shakes his head and looks past Joe into Steve’s room. “I see they’ve got him on an IV-are those antibiotics?”

Joe glances at the small vials hanging on either side of a large IV bag and answers, "Yep.”

“Good. With those and some visits from the respiratory folks he should pull through just fine."

"That's what his doc said."

"You sound like you're not buying it?"

"I'm not, neither is Danny. There's just something different about him-it's like...like the fight's gone out of him. It's hard to explain Raffi but it's scaring me."

"Then I'm putting myself on high-alert too. Tell me, do they have him sedated? Is he on pain meds?”

“No and yes. They’re giving him something for pain in his IV-morphine I think?”

“Ah yes. A good drug but there's one I like better. I'll take with his doc about it. What’s hurting him the most?”

“As far as I can tell his head."

Raffi winces as Joe explains about the nitroglycerin. "So his blood levels are still high?"

"Yeah, so far they haven't gone down at all."

"I’m going to want to see all the labs they run on him. You think you can arrange that?”

“Absolutely. His doc is a good guy-ex Air Force in fact.”

“But we won’t hold that against him.”

“No we will not.”

Borelli looks in the room at Danny who’s sitting next to Steve’s bed. “And that’s his partner?”

“He is.  Danny Williams. Another good guy. You'll never find anyone with a bigger heart than his. The way he loves Steve is a force to be reckoned with."

Borelli’s eyes widen. “So I'm to assume that _partner_ in this case describes something more than a working relationship?”

“You are. The two of them have been together behind closed doors for over three years and out in the open for about six months.”

“Good. Having someone in his court who loves him can make all the difference.”

“Agreed.”

Borelli takes a deep breath and nods at Steve then turns back at Joe. “Well enough pussyfooting around, my friend. I’m going to go in there and send Danny out –try to get him to go have some lunch or at least a coffee with you, okay?”

“Will do. Oh and Raffi?”

“Yes?”

“Good luck.”

“From your lips to God’s ears my friend.”

________~________

 Steve opens his eye and stares blearily at big man in the chair where Danny should be. “Who….are’you,” he asks.

“Your friend Joe calls me Raffi, my patients call me Doc. B.”

Steve’s frown deepen. Pain mixes with confusion.

“You look like you’re hurting?” Borelli says. “Want me to have the nurse get you something?”

Steve nods. Eyes half closed he listens as Raffi calls his nurse and asks for two milligram of  IV Dilaudid. ”I thought..." he says. “they were giving me mor-phine.”

“They were. I talked to your doc and recommended a change that he agreed with."

"What kind of doc..."

"Am I?"

Steve nods and grimaces at the same time.

"I’m a psychiatrist.”

That deepens Steve's grimace.

“I see you have a great fondness for my profession?”

“I…don’t need a s-shrink.”

“I wish to God that was true.”

“It … is.”

Before Borelli can respond the nurse comes back and connects a syringe to Steve’s IV. While she depresses the plunger Borelli continues, “I’ve been down this road way too many times, Steve and I know when I’m seeing someone close to his breaking point.”

“Well, y-you’re... wrong.”

“There’s a chance that’s true- I was wrong once before, in 2007. But right now I’m pretty sure I’m looking at a man who's in serious straights

"I'm jus' beat up. I'll be f-fine."

"I'm not so sure about that. You were  subjected to some pretty extreme abuse. I read the crime scene report, I know about the drugs-about the things they did to you. I know about the isolation chamber and the gas. I'm guessing the bastards who held you messed your head up so much you still don’t know which end is up?”

Steve ignores the question,, “W-what… do you want?”

“When you feel a little a better, when you’re not hurting as much, I’d like to talk to you, not just talk but give you a special medication and then talk. If you agree, I promise I can at least start to pull you up out of the pit you feel like you've fallen in.”

Steve’s eyes stay closed. For a second it looks like he’s drifted off again. Then he coughs. It’s a thick, painful cough that leaves him panting for breath. It takes a few minutes before he can even try to talk. When he does, Borelli has to lean in to hear him.

“I’ve tried….ther-apy, before,” he says. “It doesn’t w-work.”

“I hear you, Steve. I do. And I believe you. Therapy alone rarely works with men like you. Every aspect of your training, every freezing night you spent lying in the surf at Coronado, every hour you spent handcuffed at the bottom of that pool with your lungs on fire, taught you to shut down channels in your head that traditional therapy relies on. I’ve spent the past ten years working on a way to help men like you-to help them expose and neutralize memories that make them feel like they’re losing their minds.”

Borelli squeezes Steve’s hand. “We’ve made incredible progress, Steve. We know how to help you. _I_ know how to help you. All you have to do is agree to let me try.”

Steve opens his eyes and locks them with Borelli’s. The pain in them is so intense the doctor holds his breath. “Let me help you, Steve,” he whispers. Let me help you win this one..”

Maybe it's the way Raffi phrased it-like there was a battle to be fought that did it. Or, maybe Steve was intrigued that Borelli knew how much pain had to be overcome to become a SEAL.

Whatever it was, didn’t matter.

What mattered is that he nods and whispers, “O…kay.”

“That a ‘boy,” the big Italian says, squeezing Steve's hand and while he's still holding on to it, sending up a silent prayer. _Please God, help me._

___________~__________

Borelli waited two full days before he had his first session with Steve. He didn't stay away while he waited; in fact, he became a fixture in Steve's room and in the hallway outside of it and in the cafeteria. The Borelli Method as he liked to call it worked best the more he knew about his patient. While Steve slept and had breathing treatments and while the level of nitroglycerine in his bloodstream slowly decreased, Raffi learned his story.

He listened intently to Danny as he described the last five years beginning with the first time he met Steve. "I knew I was in trouble the minute I walked into that garage of his Pop's and saw him."

"Because you could see he was one stubborn son of a bitch?"

"No because he was, hands down, the most handsome man I'd ever seen."

They both chuckled at that, the tips of Danny's ears even turned a little pink.

"So it was love at first sight-just like with me and my gorgeous Angela?"

"It most certainly was although I didn't let him know that. Hell, I thought he would punch my lights out if I even hinted at anything like that."

"So how long did it take before you realized he'd be receptive to hearing that you found him attractive?"

"It took a while. Not that the guy isn't a real pro at dropping hints, I mean as soon as I joined his task force he started with me- a pat on my ass as we went through a door, a sly little wink when no one was looking. Hell, Steve must have stripped his shirt off a dozen times the first month we worked together."

"So why did it take a while for you to know he shared the same... orientation."

"Well I was sure as hell getting all kinds of signals but it took me months to believe them. I mean he had a girlfriend at the time, or so I thought Now I realize she was just a friend with benefits.  Finally I said to hell with it and called him on his constant flirting and sexual inuendo."

"What was his reaction?"

Danny humpfs. "The big lumox asked me what took so long."

Borelli gets a laugh out of that.

Danny continues, "I'm still not sure how he knew I was fair game from the start-I mean I don't think I give off that vibe. I guess his powers of perception are right up there with all his other super human powers."

They laughed some more after that and then talked some more and by the time they wrapped things up Borelli had a real appreciation of the deep relationship the two men shared. After Danny, Borelli spent  hours with Joe learning every detail of Steve's life from the day his dad sent him off to boarding school to the day his dad was murdered. "Holy Mother Mary," Raffi had murmured when he had all the details. "I can't even begin to imagine the kind of guilt that would heap on a man like  Steve."

"Not that he would admit it."

"Of course not. But you saw signs he was struggling?"

"Not right away. I was still stationed in Coronado his first year back on the island. It wasn't until Danny called me and asked for my help that I moved down here. That's when I saw that look in his eye and I knew the losses were started to mess with his head."

"Losses? So there were more?"

Joe nodded and told Raffi about Freddie Hart, how Steve watched his best friend die and then had to come home and tell Freddie's new wife that their unborn child would never know her father. "Freddie and Steve were tight," he told Borelli. "Steve's the reason Freddie made it through Buds and Freddie was the only person who could make Steve let go and laugh and just be a regular guy. It sounds corny but they completed each other."

"That had to be a hell of a loss for Steve."

"It was.I met him on the tarmac when he got back from that mission and there was a look in his eyes that I'd never seen before-a haunted look that resurfaces every now and again. I've seen it lot more frequently recently."

"Well as awful as that story was I have a feeling you have more for me?"

"I do," Joe answered and went on to tell Raffi about Nick Taylor and how Steve wound up losing him too, this time having to kill him to save his own life. He continued after that, explaining the complex situation Steve had with his mother-how he lost her, not once but, now that she'd gone off the grid again, twice. "And it's not just losing people he loved that's eating away at him," he explained to Borelli.

"Keep talking," the big man answered.

Looking down at his hands Joe went on to detail Steve's ordeal at the hands of the Taliban less than a year ago. In light of the almost monthly be-headings grabbing the headlines, Borelli had no trouble conjuring up a clear mental image of what he was describing. "You mean they had him on his knees with the blade up against his throat? He came that close to losing his life?"

"He did. There was video camera recording the whole sickening thing."

"And when he came back from that he acted like it never happened?"

"Pretty much. That's when the nightmares got really bad, though-so bad he called me in the middle of the night; he called Lou too. He had to tell someone but he still wasn't willing to see anyone. The best I could get out of him was a promise to go to a  PTSD support group at Hickham."

"So he did do that?"

"He did but he only made it to one meeting before this happened."

Bornellli winced, "Not that it would have helped all that much. I mean support groups have their role but it's like putting a band aid on a severed artery in Steve's case."

"I agree. I think it's telling though that he went to even one  meeting. I mean after all I've told you about Steve you can imagine how hard it was for him to do that?"

"Can I ever. I know his type, Joe. These guys have an almost visceral aversion to the touchy feely. Hell, they'd as soon dismantle an AED than discuss their emotions."

"Well put."

"Anything else I should know?"

"Just that he's been tortured before by the same man who did this most recent damage."

"You're kidding?"

"I wish. Wo Fat lured Steve to North Korea three years ago and managed to do a real number on him before we were able to extract him."

"And he filed that one away like it never happened?"

"Not only that, he held himself responsible for a colleague's death over there, a woman who actually flipped allegiances and was working with Wo Fat until the bastard murdered her."

"Good God in heaven, Joe. I'm not sure I know how this man manages to get up in the morning. "

"Yes you do. You said it yourself, you know his type. There are more compartments in Steve's head than you or I can count.  Starting with his mother's apparent death he became a master of locking up painful memories and  throwing away the key."

"And you and I both know there comes a time in every man's life when the compartments can't contain the pain anymore."

"And, I'm afraid that this time whatever it was that Wo Fat did to Steve splintered his carefully crafted hiding places to smithereens."

"And now I've got to help him find a way to pick up all the pieces and become whole again."

"It's a tall order, Raffi, I'd venture to say maybe the tallest you've ever had but you've got to get through to him, you just have to." Suddenly Joe's eyes teared up and his lip quivered. It took a few seconds before he could go on. "He's like a son to me, Raff. He's also one of the bravest, most selfless human beings I've ever known. Please help him...please."

"I'll do my damnedest Joe. Raphael Borelli doesn't like to lose-you know that-especially not when the life of such an exceptional human being hangs in the balance. Will you do one thing for me Joe... before I go in and see him?"

"Anything."

"It's something Angela does with me but seeing as I've been camped out here-"

"Just tell me what you need."

Will you pray with me?"

"I...uh... I, sure. Now?"

"Yes now." Raffi answered and reached across the cafeteria table and took Joe's hands in his. When he closed his eyes and bowed his head Joe did the same. Ignoring the clattering of plates and trays Borelli asked fervently and honestly for God to help him on the tough journey he was about to embark on. When he had made his case he said , "Amen."

When Joe echoed, "Amen," a single tear rolled down his cheek.

At the table next to them a little boy, not more than seven years old asked, “ Mommy? “Why are those two men holding hands and talking to God?”

“Don’t point, Sean.” And then in a softer voice, “They’re probably asking God to heal someone they love.”

“Like we’re asking him to make Daddy better?”

“Exactly.”

The boy takes a bite of his ice cream sandwich and asks, “Do you think their friend is a fireman like Daddy?”

“I don’t think so sweetie. They were talking to a man just a little while ago who had a gun and a badge, I bet their friend is a policeman.”

“Cool,” the boy says and takes another bite. After he licks some ice cream off his fingers he says, “Is it okay if I pray for the policeman too-when I pray for Daddy?”

“Of course it is honey. That would be really nice of you. “

“Can I do it now?”

“Sure you can, or if you want we can go back to the chapel-you know, the room with the pretty colored windows?”

“No. I want to do it here. I’m not embarrassed, Mommy. Praying is a good thing.”

“You’re right it is,” the woman said, fighting back tears that, blessedly, her son didn’t see because, head bowed and sticky fingers inner-locked,  he was already deep in prayer. When he said “Amen” and looked up he smiled an ice cream-smudged smile at her and announced, “God said he would try really hard to help. I think Daddy and the policeman are going to be okay, don’t you?”

Blinking back tears his mother answered, “I sure hope so, honey.”

________~_________

Two days later-

Any kind of light still bothers Steve's eyes so the curtains in his room are kept drawn around the clock. His headaches have finally eased up though, enough in fact for Borelli to start his therapy.

"So Steven," he says leaning on the bed's side railing, "Is it okay with you if  I take a minute and share some information with you regarding how we think the brain deals with traumatic events?"

Steve shifts back against the mattress looking uncomfortable but says,“Sure.”

“So normally sights sounds scents and sensations enter the brain in a region called the thalamus. From there they are distributed to more sophisticated brain regions involved with conscious thought where material is sorted for context and assessed for significance before it's retuned to the thalamus which then deposits it into the hippocampus to be stored as memory. Follow me so far?”

“For the most part.”

“Okay good. So now let’s look what happens with a traumatic event. First of all the brain's ability to process is overwhelmed so a more primitive method for storing memory takes over. The sensory memory of the trauma-the sounds the smell, the pain, which is by the way still entangled with the emotion associated with the moment, passes through the thalamus and is stored directly in the hippocampus without first being processed by the more sophisticated parts of the brain. These raw memories, still tied to the fear/threat response are constantly threatening to bolt into awareness as flashbacks or in your case, nightmares.”

“So how do I get rid of them?”

“Well you’re never going to get rid of them completely. The goal is to have them processed the same way non-traumatic experiences are. The problem child in this case is another part of the brain, the amygdala, which acts as a guard to suppress the unprocessed trauma memory and keep it from barging into consciousness. If we can get the amygdala to take a break the traumatic memories can be sent up from the hippocampus for the higher processing the brain couldn’t do in the immediacy of the trauma. Then, traumatic memory can be properly contextualized and integrated into the personality in a healthy way. “

“So can you do that- control the amygdala?”

“We can. For the past 2 years I’ve worked with a team at NIH in DC to investigate a drug called cycloserine. It’s actually an antibiotic but it’s one of the few drugs that passes through the blood brain barrier. So, first good thing about it is it can get to where the problem lies, inside the brain. Second good thing is that in addition to killing certain bacteria, it, for unknown reasons, suppresses the amygdala.”

“So you give it and then what?”

“As I was telling you, these memories need to be released by the amygdala so they can be fully processed. Once I administer the cycloserine along with a mild dose of valium I conduct a typical therapy session where I ask my patient to tell me about the events that are most likely his PTSD triggers. For the first time, thanks to the medicine, partially processed, super charged emotional and sensory memories can be sorted out using the brains higher processing centers. They get neutralized, so to speak, and then are stored as fully processed memories instead of as ticking time bombs.”

“How long does it take?”

 “Typically it takes 3-5 sessions to get where we want to get.”

 “And you want to do the first session-with me, now? ”

 “I do. Are you ready?”

 “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

 “Good"

Borelli nods at Steve's nurse. "Now as Anne injects the cocktail I told you about in your IV, I want you to close your eyes and take slow deep breaths. You might feel a little drowsy; you’ll definitely feel relaxed."

Borelli pulls a chair over and sits down next to Steve’s bed. He nods at the nurse, gesturing for her to begin. “How are you feeling Steve?”

 “F…fine.”

 “That's good,” Borelli says nodding to the nurse and then toward the door to let her know she can leave. “Today I want to talk to you about something that I know is painful for you so I’d like to let you lead the way. What can you tell me about your Dad, Steve, about the way he died?”

______~______

They talked for over an hour that first session. Skillfully like a surgeon excising a tumor, Borelli teased out the details of that horrific day and all the ways they had continued to haunt Steve ever since. Piece by piece he exposed the tentacles of the super-charged event and led Steve through the painful task of facing them. There were tears- at one point Steve cried so hard, it set off a coughing fit and his nurse had to come in and put him back on oxygen.  When Borelli felt he had enough for one day, he had the nurse inject a dose of pain med in Steve’s IV. It would make him sleep and while he did his brain would, for the first time, convert all that they had just talked about into fully processed memory bits to be stored along side all his other normally processed memories.

That was session one.

The next day Steve’s lungs sounded worse so Borelli left him alone, letting the respiratory therapists do their thing and giving his patient time to regain his strength before they went to battle again.

Session two took place the next day. Knowing they were dealing with one of Steve’s most volatile triggers, Borelli trod gingerly at first, asking general questions about Freddie and how they met before he had Steve revisit the day he lost his best friend. It took all he had to insist that Steve describe every last detail of Fredie’s passing. Twice the big Italian came close to stopping the session; Steve’s anguish was that bad. But, steeling himself because he knew it was Steve's only hope, he kept him on task, making him bring every unbearable detail to light so that they could be made bearable.

Sessions three and four took place over the next two days. Session four was in a dead heat with the second session in terms of painfulness. “Tell me about when you and Catherine went to Afghanistan, when you were captured by the Taliban,” Raffi said at the beginning of the session. Steve hedged and dodged but once again, Borelli insisted, zeroing in on the worst with laser-like accuracy, “Tell me what was going on in your head when your captors set up the video camera-when they pulled out the  blade they planned to behead you with.”

Session four hurt like a son of a bitch too but maybe a little less than the others. It's not like there was a magic switch and Steve miraculously improved. His was a complicated mind and he had, as Danny had so profoundly put it, been through a lot of horrible shit. The cycloserine did it's job and quieted his brain enough for him to face his painful memories and actually weave them into his psyche as opposed to continuing the futile dodge ball game he had been playing with them. Each session left him drained and even after the requisite post-session nap, exhausted. It was like the slowest winter thaw the way the emptiness began to creep out of his eyes and a hint of color returned to his cheeks.

No surprise, Danny was by his side throughout it all. As hard it was, he kept his expectations low and questioned Steve very little about how things were going. His job he decided was to bring bits and pieces of normal into Steve's room-to give him a reason to want to get better. And so there were pictures drawn and painted by Grace on every wall and all their favorite DVDs stacked on the window sill and Steve's favorite foods on his tray table most meals.  For those things he couldn't bring in physically, Danny relied on his eloquent mouth, describing a gorgeous swell of waves, or a hot new model car or a breathtaking sunset to Steve.

Slowly, one tiny  crack at a time, the prison around Steve gave way. Slowly being an important word.

As it turned out there was more to be processed than Borelli first thought.

Steve wound up requiring ten sessions-seven while he was in the hospital and three, after he was discharged, as an outpatient at Borelli’s office.

Danny drove him to the outpatient sessions and stayed the entire four hours, waiting patiently for Steve to wake up from each of his all-important after session naps.

“Well hello, sleeping beauty,” he says after the last session when Steve blinks and stretches and kicks off the light cotton blanket covering him.

“Wha time is it?” Steve asks before his eyes have fully opened.

“What? You got someplace you got to be?”

“No. I’m just hungry… I wondered if it was dinner time yet?”

Danny’s smile instantly spreads from ear to ear. “For you babe, yeah, it’s dinner time. Where you wanna go?”

“Side Street? Burgers?”

“Burgers it is. How about you sit up and I’ll help you get your shirt on?”

“I can dress myself, Danny.”

“I know that Steven but because I love you I take pleasure in helping you. Here, put your arm in this sleeve and shut your trap.”

Dutifully but not without an eye roll Steve does as he's told. When he first stands up he wobbles a little so Danny slides his arm around his waist and keeps it there as they make their way through Borelli’s empty waiting room and out into the parking lot.

“So that was your last session,” Danny says sliding into his seat and putting the key into the ignition. “I’m really proud of you Steve."

"For what?"

"For what? For going through with this-for fighting so damn hard to get better. I know it wasn’t easy.”

“It was no bit deal.”

Danny chooses to let it go, starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot. “How about some music?” he asks.

Steve has rolled down his window and laid his head back and looks like he’ll pretty much agree to anything. “Sure D,” he murmurs still a little sleepy. “Go for it.”

Soon Gavin Degraw’s gravely voice comes through the speakers.

_La da da da da da,_

Both Danny and Steve listen without saying anything.

_Where did all the people go?_   
_They got scared when the lights went low._   
_I'll get you through it nice and slow,_   
_When the world's spinning out of control._   
  
_Afraid of what they might lose_   
_Might get scraped or they might get bruised._   
_You could beg them, what's the use?_   
_That's why it's called a moment of truth_   
  
_I'll get it if you need it,_   
_I'll search if you don't see it,_   
_You're thirsty, I'll be rain,_   
_You get hurt, I'll take your pain._

_I know you don't believe it,_   
_But I said it and I still mean it,_   
_When you heard what I told you,_   
_When you get worried I'll be your soldier._

"That's you, you know," Danny says looking over at Steve

Steve sleepily turns his head and half opens his eyes. "What are you talk'in about?"

"That’s you babe,” Danny says again, giving Steve's thigh a squeeze. “You're always there for everyone else-always ready to save the world.”

Steve frowns.

“I'm not making fun; I’m proud of you- I really am . I may not particularly like it and I realize there’s not a thing I can do about it so I might as well be proud of the fact that you are, hands down, the biggest bravest bad ass mother fucker soldier in the world.”

“The world?”

“Yeah. The World.”

“I can’t be all that bad ass-look wha' I just had to do.”

“You mean with Borelli?”

 “Yeah.”

“You had to undergo _treatment_ , Steven-just like other soldiers have to get bullets taken out and cuts stitched up. It's only because you are so bad assed and put yourself in harms way so many times that your head needed help dealing with all the fall out.”

“Well, thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome.”

They listen to the rest of the song.

_'ll get it if you need it,_   
_I'll search if you can't see it,_   
_You're thirsty, I'll be rain,_   
_You get hurt, I'll take your pain._   
  
_I know you don't believe it,_   
_But I said it and I still mean it,_   
_When you heard what I told you,_   
_When you get worried I'll be your soldier._

  _My aim is so true,_  
 _I wanna show you,_  
 _I'll try forever,_  
 _I'm never gonna say "surrender"._  
  
 _I'll be your soldier_  
 _Well I'll be, oh I'll be your soldier_  
 _I'll be your soldier_  
 _I'll be your soldier_

 “You know what Danny?”

“I’m afraid to ask. What?”

‘You’re that guy too-for me.”

“Excuse me?”

 ‘You know, where he says “Ill take your pain, I'll never surrender?”

“Yeah?”

“Well that’s you D. You and me. You’re like a dog going after a bone if I’m hurt or I need something…anything.  Like this therapy thing. And-” Steve sits up and turns so he can look at Danny. “And, well I love you for it… I love you for a lot of other things too but the fact you always have my back, that you never give up on me… makes me, well it really makes me love you.”

Danny blinks back sudden hot tears. He swipes at his cheek and squints at the road ahead of him before he glances over at Steve. “That…” he says shakily is perhaps the longest, most endearing thing you’ve said to me and for sure the best thing.”

“Well don’t go getting all sappy on me or anything, I’m just telling you.”

“Roger that. Heavy forbid I get sappy around my bad asss mother fucker boy friend.”

Steve chuckles. As he smiles over at Danny a sneaky, bad boy look creeps across his face.

“What's that look for?”

“Something you just said- I liked.”

“What?”

“Fucker.”

“Oh man, let me guess. You-“

“Let’s skip Side Street, D. Let’s just go home.”

Immediately, before he even answers, Danny switches on the siren and grill lights. “You got it, babe,” he says pressing down on the accelerator and peeling out into the far left lane. "Home it is."

~fin~

 


End file.
